Ceri Radford is Assistant Comment Editor of the Telegraph.

As Cheryl Cole’s divorce shows, beauty isn’t everything

The nation can finally breathe a sigh of relief. No, George Osborne hasn’t found £157 billion quid down the back of the sofa – better than that. Cheryl Cole is divorcing Ashley. Rejoice! No longer will Britain’s favourite singing, blubbing clotheshorse be shackled to a lumbering moron with an (alleged) propensity for shagging secretaries. She will henceforth be free to promote lip gloss and sing mediocre pop, gloriously unhampered by an (allegedly) philandering premiership footballer. It is enough to bring a tear to the eye. Almost.

The breakdown of the Cole marriage does, though, illustrate a truth that should give women pause for thought in this pre-holiday season of bikini anxiety. No matter how perfect you look – how tiny your waist, how fluttery your eyelashes – you still might end up staring at the smouldering wreckage of your relationship, biting your nail extensions, calling your lawyer. Physical loveliness does not make everything else OK. Even Britain’s Sexiest Woman, a genuine beauty who would probably look even better without all the slap, can end up with a husband who (allegedly) texts pictures of himself in terrible underpants to a model.

Good for her for getting rid of him, and for giving us all another reason to resist the tyranny of those endless ‘beach body now’ features and go do something nice instead, like gardening, or eating a Mars bar.